


Snake Bite Love

by swagnushammersmith



Series: 50,000 Words [6]
Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe- Metalheads, Alternate Universe- Punks, Author is a fucking nerd for heavy metal subculture history, Chris is a dick, Heavy Metal, M/M, Mark is an Asshole, Melissa doesn't give a fuck, Metalhead Mark Watney, Metalhead Rick Martinez, Motorhead - Freeform, Punk, Punk Beth Johanssen, Punk Chris Beck, RIP in peace Lemmy Kilmister, metal, ratings to go up when updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagnushammersmith/pseuds/swagnushammersmith
Summary: Ah, the 1980s. There couldn't be a better time for heavy metal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY i post this. This was another part of NaNo and I was stoked to write it. Thanks @ Slenderlock for betaing!

**_1988_ **  
**_Houston, TX_ **  
**_Reliant Stadium_ **

“Ah, man, we’re so close!” Mark shouts excitedly, parking his car. “I can practically taste Lemmy’s whiskey breath from here!”

“Man, I’m surprised we aren’t getting a contact buzz from being this close to him,” Rick laughs. “This is gonna be fuckin’ legendary!”

They hop out of the car, joining the droves of people walking towards the entrance to the Motorhead concert. Mark shivers a little, his leather jacket doing its best to keep him warm despite the cold November night air. He knows that the packed stadium will warm him up once he’s inside, but for now, he feels comfortable. It’s Mark and Rick’s first time seeing Motorhead live, and they cannot be more pumped.

“After tonight,” Mark says, walking backwards as he talks, “I think I can officially die happy. You can have all my stuff when I drop dead.”

“Dude, I don’t want your Cubs memorabilia,” Rick teases.

“Listen, that shit will be _worth_ something someday, just you wait.”

“Yeah, about as much as the shits you take,” Rick retorts.

Mark drops his mouth open and slaps a hand to his chest, feigning shock. Rick laughs. He knows Rick does this to tease him, but he still makes a mental note to try to prove him wrong later. Somehow. Rick changes the subject by asking, “What songs you think they’re gonna play?”

“They gotta play ‘Ace of Spades’,” Mark gushes, still walking backwards without a second thought. “They just gotta.”

“No shit, dude.”

“Oh my god, ‘Orgasmatron,’ they gotta play--” Mark’s words cut off as his back smacks into something- no, _someone._

“Mind watching where you’re going, pal?” the person scolds. Mark turns to see him run a hand through his dark hair, scowling. The girl beside him turns as well, to see what the commotion is.

Mark looks at him, gaze drifting down until he spots the man’s Sex Pistols shirt. Eugh. Punk.

“Are you lost?” Mark taunts.

The other man squints his eyes, confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“This- is- a- Motorhead- show,” he says in a slow, patronizing tone. “I understand if you just stumbled in here on your way to a grease fire, you filthy punk.”

The punk jolts his head back for a second, before laughing out, “Go home and wail to Black Sabbath, asshole.”

“Listen, I’ll spell it out for ya,” Mark says, placing a smug hand on the other’s shoulder. “Motor _head_ is for metal _heads_.”

The other man looks down at Mark’s leather-jacket-Judas-Priest-shirt ensemble and smirks. “You would know all about head, wouldn’t you?”

Mark winks in response. “Wouldn’t you like to find out.”

The girl at the punk’s side pulls him away. “Come on Chris, leave these assholes alone,” she says, turning him back to head inside.

Mark and Rick stand in a bubble of awed silence for a few moments. “Assholes?” Rick whines, stunned. He watches them leave. “But I didn’t do anything!”

Mark shoves him, playfully. “Come on, let’s fight our way to the front,” he says.

They make it pretty damn close to the front, and Mark feels as if he’s died and gone to heaven. Being right there in the presence of Motorhead, in the presence of _Lemmy Kilmister_ , was better than anything else in his life right now. Better than that time he and Rick spelt out obscenities with plastic forks in his asshole neighbor’s yard. If Santa Claus were real, Mark would tell him to skip over his house this year, because Mark has everything he wants. Check in again next year, Santa.

And yeah, Motorhead plays “Orgasmatron” and “Ace of Spades.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_A few days later_ **

Mark and Rick are now hanging out at their favorite record store, Mercury Records. Well, Rick is hanging out; Mark’s shopping for something new to play on his radio show. He’s nothing like a local celebrity or anything, but his handful of fans are dedicated, because like him, they are metal fans.

“So how was Motorhead?” the owner, Melissa asks, leaning over the counter.

“It was the best show ever!” Rick exclaims.

“Dude, you say that about every show we go to,” Mark remarks, as he looks over discs.

“Well how would you rank it then?”

Mark pauses, abandoning the discs to place a thoughtful finger on his chin. “On a scale of one to ten,” he says slowly, “I’d say it’s the best show ever!” He holds a hand out and Rick slaps it with his own, grinning madly.

“That was the most enthusiastic high five I’ve ever witnessed,” Melissa deadpans, then shakes her head fondly. “You guys are idiots.”

Mark ignores the comment, clear disgust drawn on his face as he picks up an album by The Ramones. “Why oh why do you have this shit in your store, Melissa?” he asks as he points an accusing finger at the album. “It should be thrown in a fire!”

“Look, PMRC, you can burn it all you want so long as you pay for it.” She smirks. “I’m trying to run a business here.”

Mark seriously ponders the idea before shaking his head and putting the album away. “I’m not gonna give my money to the unworthy cause of punk rock. Oh now this,” he pauses to pick up an Iron Maiden album, “this right right here is a worthy cause!” He poses like a Price is Right model, showing off the cover like it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.

“You already have that album, though,” Rick points out.

“I’d buy it again in a heartbeat.”

“ _Are_ you buying it?” Melissa asks.

“I wish I could, but I can’t afford to right now,” Mark says, shaking his head sadly. “I need something _new_ for my show.”

“You could play the O’Jays,” Melissa jokes. “That would be new for your audience.”

“Please, Melissa, be serious with me. I’m fine with the fact that you like disco, but you don’t need to shove it all in my face.”

Melissa shakes her head. “Oh, before I forget, here.” She hands Rick and Mark each a slip of paper. “You’re invited to my birthday party.”

“Your birthday isn’t till July though,” Rick says, reading the paper.

“Yeah, well, I have a lot of planning to do. Might as well get started while I’m ahead.”

“Jesus, how long does it take for someone to plan a party?” Mark asks.

“If you’re Melissa Lewis,” Rick starts, then pauses to count on his fingers, “seven months.”

“In all fairness,” Melissa defends, “I _am_ building a whole stage set up in my garage, and that alone is quite the undertaking.”

“Okay, I appreciate your efforts to be over the top,” Mark concedes. “Who’s playing that you need a whole stage set up?”

“My friend’s band, The Goddesses of Leather.” Rick and Mark snicker not too subtly at the name. “Shut up, they’re really good.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Rick says sarcastically.

“But, we’ll be at your place in seven months, Melissa. I’m sure your party will be killer- like Maiden’s second album.”

It’s not until they’re walking out of the shop that Rick yells, “Oh, because the album is called _Killers_!” and Mark jumps about twenty feet into the air.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **_July 15, 1989_ **  
**_Houston, TX_ **  
**_Melissa Lewis’ House_ **

The party is already in full swing when Rick and Mark arrive. There is an overflow of guests of all different kinds; punks, metalheads, disco fans, and the like. It throws the boys for a loop, seeing leather jackets and teased hair intermingle with platform sandals and peace sign necklaces.

“Does Melissa _know_ all of these people?” Rick asks.

“For her sanity, I sure hope not,” Mark responds.

They venture inside the house and are offered cups of beer, which they eagerly accept. There is no sign of Melissa anywhere yet, but Mark and Rick aren’t worried. They figure that they’ll run into her eventually, and besides, it’s a big crowd where one can easily get lost.

Instead they make conversation amongst some of the other noticeable metalheads at the party, sharing laughs and stories about their favorite concert experiences. They down a lot more beers along the way.

They’re both pretty buzzed when Melissa’s voice-- or what they’re pretty sure is Melissa’s-- echoes over the house through a megaphone, “The band’s about to play, so if you want to, make your way to the garage!”

Mark and Rick stumble their way into the garage, the drinks impairing their motor skills. They finally make it in the garage with only a few major tumbles. They find a spot to lean against on the wall near the massive stage set up, also leaning on each other. They need all the stability they can get.

They look ahead at the stage set up and stare blankly, momentarily forgetting where they were. They barely notice Melissa standing up on the stage, or the band assembling.

“Y’know what I just realized?” Rick slurs out.

“Mwhat?” Mark mumbles back.

“Do you think it’s, like, kinda weird that Melissa’s runnin’ her own party?”

“It’s like she doesn’t trust anyone else to put together a fun time for her or something.”

Rick laughs a little, rubbing his face. “We could totally throw a kickass party for her!”

“With cake… and Motorhead!”

“Gotta admit though,” Rick says, drunkenly rubbing a hand over his face, “that stage setup is fuckin’ sweet!”

“Amen to that!”

Someone near them- where exactly, they aren’t able to say, despite turning around to look- shouts at them, “Shut up, the band’s about to play!” They turn around and notice Melissa talking to someone with a guitar strapped on his shoulder.

And Mark squints, because, “Don’t I know that guy from somewhere?”

“Who?” Rick asks.

Mark points up at the stage. “That guy up there.”

Rick squints too, trying to piece the puzzle together. “Maybe?”

Melissa turns to address the crowd. “Thanks everyone for showing up for my birthday party tonight!” she says into a microphone. Everyone in the garage cheers. “I hope you enjoy this band I’ve brought along for the ride, give it up for Goddesses of Leather!” More applause fills the room as Melissa hops off the stage.

The band gets into position, and Mark gets a better look at the guitarist as he steps in front of a microphone stand. Once the light hits the guy’s face just right, Mark realizes.

“Rick, we gotta get outta here,” Mark hisses, a little panicked and tapping at Rick’s shoulder.

“Why?” Rick asks. “The band’s about to play!”

Mark leans in really close to Rick. “That’s the guy I ran into at the Motorhead show, remember?” he whispers through his teeth.

Rick, taken aback, looks at the guy on stage again. His eyes widen when the realization hits him. “Bro, we gotta get outta here.”

They’re turning their heads hurriedly to search for an exit when the birthday girl herself, Melissa, walks up to them. “Hey guys!” she greets. “You having fun?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Mark says, trying to dodge away as quickly as possible. “Listen, I do need to head out, I just remembered that…” Fuck, what kind of excuse will she buy?

“We gotta go get ice cream, and Sonic’s about to close!” Rick blurts.

Melissa smacks him on the head. “You think I wouldn’t have ice cream at my own party?”

Mark laughs, unable to stop himself despite his panic. “But really though,” he says, “I just remembered that I-- uh-- I left my cat in the oven.” Smooth, Mark.

Melissa shakes her head. “Look,” she says, patiently putting her hands on their shoulders, “I know you guys think punk is the work of Satan or whatever, but give my friends’ band a chance! They’re really good!”

Mark groans, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. Great, he’s gonna have to suffer through a whole set of awful _punk _music.__ He doesn’t have to hear it to know that it’s going to be awful. He’s a metalhead. He just _ _ _knows_ __ these things.

He does his best to look down at the floor as the band starts up. He flicks his gaze upward when he hears the vocals of a girl, and sees that it’s the girl that that punk asshole was with at the Motorhead show. Great.

_From the cradle bars calls a beckoning voice_   
_It sends you spinning, you have no choice_

The music picks up speed. Thumping drums accompany vibrating electric guitars, and Mark almost has the urge to tap his foot in tune with the song. Rick however, nods along, actually enjoying the song. Traitor, Mark thinks.

_Following the footsteps of a ragdoll dance_   
_We are entranced, spellbound_

The band plays mostly punk and gothic rock covers for the rest of the set, fast-paced and drony throughout. Mark’s convinced that it’s one song throughout, because he can barely tell when one ends and the next one beings.

Mark’s attention is caught when the band pauses for a little bit longer than normal between a couple of songs, because the girl and (asshole) guitarist switch spots on the stage, and he hands off the guitar to her. They jump right back in at the flick of a guitar string, followed by a bass-driven melody.

_In a sea of faces, in a sea of doubt_   
_In this cruel place your voice above the maelstrom_   
_In the wake of this ship of fools I'm falling further down_   
_If you can see me, Marian, reach out and take me home_

Mark looks up now, because _holy shit_ the vocals on this guy. Mark was convinced that he couldn’t be paid to like Sisters of Mercy in _any_ form. Well, he can admit that the vocals on this guy are still impressive. He’s still an asshole, though, don’t get him wrong.

_I hear you calling Marian_   
_Across the water, across the wave_

Mark is compelled to wave his arms around like he’s casting a spell. Why do goths consider this actual dancing?

_Marian..._

The crowd applauds, and The Guy stands back for a moment from the mic stand. “Thanks everyone!” he calls out. “Let’s all give the birthday girl a proper serenade, shall we?” He leads everyone in a celebrative cheer of “Happy Birthday” to Melissa, which Mark joins in on begrudgingly because one, Melissa is his friend and is standing right there next to him and two, he isn’t an asshole.

“Happy Birthday, Melissa!” the guy shouts once more. “We’ve got one more song for you, hit it Alex!”

The bassist opens the last song in a riff that’s very familiar.

“Fuck yeah, Motorhead!” Rick shouts, and Mark holds back the urge to drop his face in his hands.

Mark doesn’t know what he did that the universe was punishing him for tonight. He resists the urge to drop to his knees and shout, "You’ve made your point!" Because the Leather Goddesses or whatever are playing “Iron Fist,” Mark’s favorite Motorhead song ever, and a goddamn punk band is-- Mark huffs and looks up to watch the rest of his punishment unfold. And- goddamnit- this band’s version of “Iron Fist” is actually good. Mark alo cannot deny That Guy’s vocal ability, because Mark’s pretty sure that no one can emulate the deep, rich voice of Andrew Eldritch and switch over to gritty, whiskey-breathed Lemmy Kilmister in a snap.

_You know me, evil eye_   
_You know me, prepare to die_   
_You know me, the snakebite kiss_   
_Devil's grip, the iron fist_

The Goddesses of Leather close out with the last chords of the song, and everybody cheers. Well, Mark politely claps at least.

“We’re Goddesses of Leather, enjoy the rest of the party, goodnight!” The Guy yells into the microphone, and he jumps off the stage, while the rest of the band sets their instruments down and turns off the amps. The people at the front of the crow high-five him as he makes his way through.

“So, good right?” Melissa asks, nudging Mark with her elbow, making him jump from the suddenness.

“Wha?” he asks, and then her question actually sinks in. He reluctantly huffs out, “Oh, I mean-- I guess.”

“That was pretty sweet!” Rick shouts, and Melissa smiles. “Do they have any original music?” he asks.

“They do,” Melissa says, nodding. “They only did covers tonight as a treat for my birthday.”

“Hey Melissa!” a voice calls from within the crowd, and Mark recognizes it as That Guy. He groans.

“Over here!” she shouts, waving her hand.

“Well listen, Melissa,” Mark says hurriedly, “thanks for inviting us, buuuut we really have to go now.”

“What’s the hurry?” she asks. “You don’t wanna stay and meet the band?”

“I so wish I could,” Mark says, pretending to be heartbroken, “but it’s just not in the cards for me tonight--”

“What’s this?” cuts in another voice, and of course it’s That Guy. “You get lost or something? Did you stumble in here on the way to the junkyard?”

Mark looks away as That Guy comes into view.

Melissa looks between the two, stunned. “I didn’t know you knew each other!”

“We don’t,” Mark grumbles, trying not to look at That Guy.

“Don’t be silly!” That Guy says, slinging his arm around Mark. He turns to Melissa and adds, “We really hit it off at the Motorhead show! Remember when I told you about that?”

Melissa looks thoughtfully for a moment before widening her eyes with a particular suddenness. She thwacks Mark on the shoulder. “Mark, you should be nice!” 

“Oww!” he yells, rubbing his shoulder.

“Sorry Mark was such an asshole, he gets that way,” Melissa apologizes. “Anyways, thanks for coming tonight, Chris, it really means a lot.”

That Guy, Chris, takes his arm off of Mark and leans in to hug Melissa. “You got it, babe, happy birthday to ya.”

The Girl walks up by Chris now. “Hey, it’s those losers,” she says to Chris. Mark rolls his eyes. She turns to Melissa and smiles. “Happy Birthday, Melissa.”

Melissa just chuckles. “Thanks, Beth.”

Chris turns to Beth. “I’m gonna start help loading the stuff in the van, ‘kay?” he says.

“‘Kay,” she simply responds. Chris taps her shoulder affirmatively and walks away. Beth turns back to Melissa. “So... what did Mindy think of the show?” A blush creeps its way across Beth’s face.

Melissa shrugs. “I haven’t talked to her, but she’s over there if you wanna ask.” Beth turns her head sharply to see where Melissa points, and then runs off excitedly.

A few seconds of awkward silence builds between the remaining three. Well, not really silence, considering they were in a crowded garage. But the tension between Mark and Chris already made things uncomfortable. And Mark only knew that girl Beth for a few seconds, but he couldn’t make out what her deal was.

“So… great party, right, Mark?” Rick says in an attempt to break the awkwardness.

“Right, right,” Mark says flatly.

“Oh oh!” Rick shouts too suddenly, startling both Mark and Melissa. “Happy birthday, Melissa!” He collides into Melissa, hugging her. “Sorry we didn’t get you anything!”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, hugging back. “I’m glad that you could make it.”

When Rick breaks away, Mark nods to her. “Yeah, happy birthday,” he says. They exchange fond smiles.

Rick and Mark stay until there’s a noticeable lull in the party, and thankfully don’t run into the _punks_ again.

**Author's Note:**

> I was stoked to write this because I'm a fucking nerd for heavy metal subculture history ask me about my fave documentaries.
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> "Iron Fist" by Motorhead  
> "Orgasmatron" by Motorhead  
> "Ace of Spades" by Motorhead  
> "Spellbound" by Siouxie and the Banshees  
> "Marian" by Sisters of Mercy
> 
>  
> 
> [Screech at me on Tumblr. I'll screech back within three to five days.](http://blackmetalbuckybarnes.tumblr.com)


End file.
